


Plagued

by dandywarholic



Category: Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Arthur is a sad man, F/M, M/M, NO IN GAME SPOILERS, Takes place pre game, alcohol use, johns a dumb bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17270150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandywarholic/pseuds/dandywarholic
Summary: If Arthur forgave John a little bit sooner. His life’s crumbling around him, but he finds it has been that way for way too long.





	Plagued

  
  
“And you  _ left.”  _  Arthur growled out. 

 

Anger burned in his chest and was the only thing keeping him grounded. The closest emotion he drew himself to.

 

John wasn’t entirely sure how to react, how to argue. Just had to stare into Arthur’s intense eyes before it became too much and he looked away.

 

“I  _ know that.”  _ He said after too long, “What do you want from me?” 

 

Arthur scoffed and then spat on the ground. He lit another cigarette and brought it to his lips. Took a long drag. He felt his hands shaking. From the anger and something else.

 

He was a sad man, he knew that. A bitter bastard. The only thing he knew was loyalty and John seemed to forget it so easily, important as it was.

 

“You broke somethin’, Marston. And they let you come back like the dog you were with the blood a chickens on your muzzle.” He continued, “Leaving Jack.” Leaving  _ me.  _ He wanted to say.

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose then gave a short laugh. “What are you fucking proving here, Morgan?” 

 

“Nothin’.” 

 

“Then why are you bringing this up again? I know I’ve never been a smart man—“

 

“You’re a damn fool.” Arthur interrupted. 

 

John just gave him a look then continued, “I can’t- I can’t take it back. And I can’t ask for your forgiveness, but— Augh. I ain’t good at words neither.” 

 

Silence fell over them again. Arthur smoked slowly, burning the length of the cigarette to exhaustion. 

 

They both weren’t pretty, inside and out. 

Arthur didn’t know what drew him to John for so long. The naivety of him maybe, or the feeling of being a protector. His John Marston, the two protégés.

 

Some would call them brothers but it was always more complicated than that. 

 

Arthur flicked the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. 

 

John was staring at him warily, unsure if the conversation ended or not.

 

The man wasn’t a coward no more, he wanted Arthur to know that. But the man was too hurt to see anything. Too mad and it was a failing battle that John couldn’t stand. 

 

He had so much to say to defend himself but they never come out right. He tried anyway.

“I ain’t sayin’ this good,” he started. “But know I didn’t mean none— Er, I didn’t intend for.” 

 

“Shut up, John Marston. Nothin’ good comes from that mouth of yours.” 

 

“Seems a yours too.” He barked back, bitter.

 

“Yeah?” The older man stepped forward. John stood his ground. 

 

_ We don’t have time to be damn fighting with each other. Get your shit together!  _ Arthur could hear Dutch in the back of his mind as he raised his fist.

 

“What are you gonna do, Arthur Morgan? Beat me to a damn pulp? Will that make you feel better?” He was trying hard to call his bluff.

 

“Oh I reckon so.” He closed the distance between them and grabbed the collar of his leather jacket.  As much as John tried to keep stone faced he still braced for the punch.

 

It never came, not yet at least.

 

“I searched for you.” Arthur’s fist was still raised high, threatening. 

John held his breath.

 

“Went missin’ myself for weeks. Thought you got captured, thought you got hanged. Not many dumb kids with long hair makin messes in town. Yet you were dust.” John could see how shaky Arthur’s fist got.

 

“I mourned you.” He said. With the roughness of Arthur’s voice he got to hear the hurt shine through. Johns breath exiting his lungs all at once and he had no idea what his face looked like but he doubted it was a smart one. 

 

“When you came back I wanted you dead, Marston. Like you was. That you been. And you here right now, sayin you have changed.” Arthur laughed. It wasn’t funny.

 

John still found himself speechless.

 

Silence reached them once more and Arthur lowered his fist. 

 

Anger was such a terrible mask for sadness. It exhausted itself so quickly and only left him pathetic, yet Morgan clung to it every time.

 

It was just so easy.

 

_ What’s eating you, Arthur Morgan?  _ John would say with a busted face, the two of them sitting side by side in the hay of an unfamiliar barn. Drunk off their asses and finding themselves in a fight too many.  _ You ain’t usually an angry drunk. _

 

Arthur laughed hard at first, piss drunk, but coughed out a tired frown. Eliza and Isaac’s fate coming to mind.  _ It just seems life don’t have a lotta room for someone like me. _

 

John busted up laughing,  _ Oh ain’t that the truth.  _ And Arthur got to laughing too.

 

“Let go of me.” John finally spoke up for himself, irritation in his voice as he ripped himself away. “There ain’t nothin’ I can say, Morgan. I said I’m sorry.” 

 

He backed away then walked off. Leaving Arthur in the light of the fire that illuminated the clearing. Any onlookers knew very well to keep their eyes downcast and their mouths shut.

  
  


Their bond for so long torn into pieces and it was a pain Arthur hated more than if John had died that day. 

 

No, that was a lie.

 

That’s what he  _ wanted _ to be true, but he can’t forget the relief he felt when that stupid bastard crawled back on their figurative doorstep. 

 

He was a mixture of emotions that he had to sort out but never quite seemed to figure.

 

—

 

“I just don’t know what to do, Hosea, or how to feel.” 

 

“You’re being too hard on yourself, my boy, and too hard on him.” The older man spoke evenly, his eyes focused on cleaning his rifle. 

 

These were things Arthur could never find himself discussing with Dutch.

 

“I just don’t get how you let him back so easy— If he had been anyone else—“ Arthur growled.

 

“Arthur, please.” Hosea lowered his voice. 

 

And as a sad bastard like himself did, he quieted and slumped his shoulders. The fire that they sat at flickered and crackled. It warmed their bones in the desert night chill. 

 

He wanted to talk more deeply but he held those thoughts for his journal. 

How he felt worry every time John went on a job, to town, or even to go fishing. Scared he wouldn’t come back. The amount of times he imagined finding Johns poor corpse on the side of the road. Or somewhere darker. 

 

He was angry because anger made more sense. 

 

Hosea didn’t speak again, just finished cleaning his gun then got up and walked to his tent.

 

—

 

_ Dear Arthur, _

 

_ It’s been a long time since I’ve wrote, I know. And it’s not in terms of regret. It's been difficult to even pick up the pen, least of all summon the words to write you. I know you understand, even if it hurts you most. It hurts me too. But I believe it was the right decision between us. No matter how difficult it has been to say goodbye. _

 

_ I was hoping to discuss this in person someday, but I have been preoccupied with matters most engaging. I’m getting married, Arthur. He’s a good man. Earns his money honestly and will take care of me. I know that may not be easy news to hear but I wanted it to be me you heard it from.  _

 

_ You’re a good man in there, Arthur Morgan. I always saw it, but we both know we could never find ourselves to run away like we dreamed.. Reality is here and it offered me a ring. A life that’s not followed by the law. Father approves of him too, and you know how many things he finds himself approving of nowadays.  _

 

_ Please don’t write back or seek me out. What we had is officially gone and I beg of you to move forward.  _

 

_ Farewell,  _

_ Mary Gillis, Soon to be Mary Linton _

 

Arthur read the letter over many times before finally forcing himself to fold it away and put it in his journal. 

  
Oh Mary.   
  


John stood nearby at the post office and had to stop himself from calling out to him. The look on Arthur’s face told something was wrong.

 

Arthurs heart felt in two again. Every time he thinks he can’t be hurt it managed to split again.

 

Life just ain’t right. 

 

He walked down the steps of the platform and to his horse. Untied her then threw the reins over Bodicea’s head and climbed up. He pulled her forward and got her trotting. John followed suit quickly.

 

Arthur didn’t have to say where he was going, John knew.    
  
The town was bare bones, a saloon, a general store that had slim pickings, a sheriff, and a post. It was the last town before the desert ended and the rural midwest began. Forgettable as one town could damn well be.

 

The Blackwater saloon had cheap whiskey and it went down rough. Each time he swallowed down the burning liquor he felt it numb the lump in his throat and the poison that threatened to come up. 

 

This was the fourth time he’d been heartbroken. 

He shouldn’t have been so surprised, but for some reason he was holding his breath that Mary would come back to him.

 

John watched in silence. Anything he’d say would just be shot down, they couldn’t talk like that anymore. He figured his best option was to just get drunk with him and keep him in his sights.  

 

Like clockwork, it was six drinks before Arthur finally started to talk again. He grabbed Johns shoulder roughly and gripped tight. 

 

“She’s gettin’ married.” He chuckled. John didn’t need to ask who.

 

“Ah shit.” John said eloquently. “I’m- I’m so sorry Arthur.” 

 

Arthur took another shot and chuckled a little harder.

 

“You don’t- You don’t need girls like that. She’s so— How, uh, how’d Susan put it??” John struggled. 

 

“Uppity.” Arthur answered, but his drawl was somber.

 

“Yeah! Yeah, Arthur. Arthur, see, you can do better.” It was so generic and something the gang had been voicing since the first time she dumped him. “You don’t need ‘er”

 

Even if it was true, Arthur hung his head. “.. Think I do, Marston. Just don’t deserve ‘er.” He exhaled shakily. “Nother.” He raises his hand for the bartender and he was ignored. “I said, another damn drink please!” 

 

That got both stares and a bitter retort from the bartender. “You’ve gotta slow down, Sir”  He said pouring another. 

 

“What did you fuckin’ say to me??” 

 

“Haha, hey, look, he’s gettin’ you another drink. Right, friend?” John raised his glass to Arthur and Arthur was getting too drunk to register the clear distraction. The bartender gave him a side glance and poured another for the man.

 

He faltered with a small chuckle and raised his own drink and they threw it back together. 

 

Three more drinks and they were only laughing harder and causing more ruckus. Talking about everything stupid and nothing. Sang campfire songs with the piano off tune in the background. 

 

It was as if John never ran away, that Gillis never broke his heart, that dear Eliza never died. Just drunken sopor leaving him in a numbed bliss. 

 

“Yer the best man I know, Arthur Morgan. You know that, right?” John seemed to keep finding reasons to say the man’s name.

 

“You don’t know what yer fuckin’ on about.” He tried to look angry but was too amused to keep a smile back.

 

“I do! I do, and you’re— Youre so fucking stupid.” John laughed, “Big ol Arthur. King of the west!!” He raised his glass and laughed.

 

“Okay, now I really don’ know what yer on about.” He found himself laughing, “I think yer just drunk.” 

 

John scowled, “No!  _ Yer _ just drunk. I’ll-“ 

 

“For fucks sake, can ya keep it down? We’re tryin’ to have a damned conversation here. Can’t think straight with your.. yellin’!” Said the man next to them who thought he was in a position to even talk to them. Had a funny hat on too.

 

“Haha, you need thoughts to think, friend.” John quickly shot back. “Unless they’re all in that fancy hat a yer’s” 

 

“Go on talk to me like that again, I dare you, mister.” 

 

“Fellers! Fellers!” Arthur interrupted, his hands in the air. He put a friendly hand on the stranger's shoulder. “Don’t-- Don’t mind him, he’s just a little outta it. We’re just havin’ a bit a fun. You know how it is.” He sloppily drawled that out to then pat him a couple times then swiftly punched him in the gut with his free hand. Knocked the wind right out of him and he crumpled. Arthur grinned as the man fell and John near cackled. 

 

It just went downhill from there.

 

Their coordination was awful. Messy swings and uncalculated dodges, yet they felt they could take on the entire bar themselves. And they near did. 

 

It wasn’t until Arthur found himself nearly crushing a man’s windpipe that he realized just how much enjoyment he was having to see the victim under him struggle in pain. He  _ had _ been holding a lot in.

 

“Arthur!” John grabbed at his shoulder. “Stop, we gotta go.” He was beat pretty bad but looked better than the others. Still couldn’t pry Arthur from killing the man he held in his grip. 

 

“Morgan! We gotta— Gotta run, they got the law on us. We gotta—“ And that finally snapped him out of it. The man wheezed under him and he crawled off. 

 

Arthur fell twice trying to rush out, one of them being Johns fault as they bumped into each other to scramble from the voice yelling at them from the entrance. 

 

They were gone, and fast. Laughing the entire rest of the way. Goofy, stupid and drunk. 

 

The law didn’t chase them too far and they found themselves down near a reservoir. Nice fresh water. Privacy. A good place to put up camp, but a better place to pass out in. 

 

They were still giggling like they were kids and they fell to the ground in a heap. 

 

“John fucking Marston!” Arthur yelled out. 

 

“Arthur fucking Morgan!” He shouted back. They were laying next to each other. John felt the ground spinning despite being stationary and it only made him laugh more, if not a bit woozy. 

 

Like a damn switch, Arthur went quiet. 

“Why, why they damn all leave me? Huh?” Arthur slurred, “John Marston answer me.” 

 

John squinted as if that would help him hear better and looked over to Arthur. 

“Huh? What you on about, old man?”

 

Arthur threw an arm at him and missed. “Nev’ mind.” 

 

“Alright then. I’m gon’—gonna, uh, close my eyes. I’ll be righ’ back.” And he did. Shut his eyes immediately and let the spinning consume him.

 

Arthur sat up a little, looking over at John and frowned. 

 

Saw him looking peaceful and he remembered the hurt again. Remembered he left him. Just like every other person he cared about. Love— Love wasn’t something the stars wanted from him he guessed.

 

“John.” 

 

Nothin.

 

“ _ John. _ ” 

 

Still nothing.

 

“ _ MARSTON.”  _ He finally yelled and shoved at him. 

 

_ “ _ Wh— What ? Arthur! Jesus Christ, what?” He lulled his head as he sat up more.

 

Arthur reached over and grabbed his jacket and held tight but didn’t pull. 

 

“Answer me, John Marston.”

 

“Ansher, answer uh, what?” He fumbled out.

 

“Answer me.” Arthur said finally as he slumped against Johns chest and clocked out. John grunted with the weight of a 34 year old man. 

 

John slumped back down and shut his eyes again and did the same.   
  


 

—

 

  
Next thing they knew they were being roasted by the burning sun. Dehydrated and disturbed by just how bright it was. Everything hurt. All the way to the bone.   
  
He opened his eyes then shut them again. Confused and disoriented. He felt the ground under him, dirt. There was sound of rushing water nearby. He wondered if he was still drunk, the ground just didn’t feel right and there was a hot body against him.    
  
_ Mary,  _ he thought, but then he peaked his eyes open again and saw a man.   
  
“Nm, John?” He spoke aloud, his voice even feeling foreign to him.   
  
They were fully clothed, too clothed, actually. (He was sweltering.) John looked black and blue, turning that charming mug only uglier. That said, in the moment he looked peaceful, unbothered.    
  
He touched at his own face, feeling the welts that had blossomed from the night before and the crusted blood from a bloody nose. He suddenly started to not feel so good.    
  
Arthur sat up quickly and stumbled/half crawled to the river bed and emptied the contents of his stomach. All liquid. Nice. The man continued heaving until there was nothing left. Oh, he was in a bad way.    
  
“Arthur?” John croaked, that raspy voice only raspier.    
  
Arthur pulled himself to the water and splashed his face and it both cooled him down and washed away the caked blood and grime. He took a sharp inhale and huffed it out, considering just letting his head fall in the water until he drowned.    
  
Things started to come back to him, bits and pieces of the night before, but not much. Seemed like the night had happened three months ago. A dream a few hours old.    
  
John wasn’t in a better state and crawled over to the river bed to dunk his head. When he popped back up he only threw up. It was probably the funniest scene Arthur has witnessed in the past month. He just busted up laughing, despite the pain in every direction making him regret it.    
  
“Wh--” He cut himself off by heaving again. John was not having a good time.  _ Never drinking again. _ John thought, but who was he kidding? “Fuck you, Morgan.” He muttered and tried washing himself again.    
  
Getting to his feet slowly Arthur checked his satchel for something, anything, that’d fix this pain. Instead of a bottle of fix-all was the letter from Mary sitting at the top of his pack, and he stared at the folded stationery. He sighed and tucked it away again to snatch a half empty health cure and down the rest of it. Tastes like the devil’s dick sweat. He knew that for a fact, but if it worked, it worked.    
  
He tossed a fresh bottle to Marston who caught it and drank it while he sat up. Nearly downed the whole thing before gagging.

  
“M goin’ back. You comin’ with?” He looked towards the town that was in view. Their horses were on the side of reservoir and boy was he glad. He hefted himself up over the small ledge and greeted his horse.   
  
“Yeah-- Yeah, m’ comin’. Just give me a second.” John groaned. “Or two.” Then more heaving.    
  
Bodicea looked so gorgeous in the hot sun. She neighed in a greeting as he patted her neck.    
“Mm, good girl.”  _ That’s one that will never leave. Too dumb.  _ Arthur thought, amused. He brought out the brush from the saddle pack and gave her a couple good strokes. Cooing at her each time he brushed her.    
  
“Why don’t you love me like that, Arthur?” John croaked out with a shitty grin.    
  
“Girl here does what she’s told ands never left me on some damn year trip.”

  
“I came back didn’t I?”    
  
“Unfortunately.” The man grumbled and offered his horse an oatcake before saddling up. John was already seated on Old Boy.    
  
“You’re going to have to forgive me someday, Arthur Morgan.” He called with a little too much confidence.    
  
“When I’m dyin’.”    
  
They stopped by the town for a couple last errands then returned to camp. Weren’t asked where they been. Just moved onto the next thing per usual. 

 

Life went on without Mary.  Just as it did without Eliza and Isaac. How it did without John.    
  
\--

  
Word about Mary got around camp quickly, like all things did. The ones who cared tread warily around him and the ones who cared more confronted him with small reassurances.    
  
Arthur kept things close to his chest, everyone knew that. Always been that way. Never cried about his problems, but didn’t run from them neither. 

 

Tried to accept the demons and move on. 

 

Killing, stealing, and robbing were just all great distractions. An unhealthy outlet, sure, but one all the same.

 

“Hey, Arthur.” A voice called to him. “Got a minute?”

 

The man sat on his cot, leaning back against the wall of the cart with his journal open. Was in the middle of writing about their recent developments. About the town they found themselves near and how he felt about his life at the moment. 

Writing in there always felt better than going off and speaking to his friends, didn’t feel like complaining since the paper never had to say anything back, and most of all kept himself objective when reading over his thoughts.

 

If he wasn’t in the mood for feeling sorry for himself, he sketched instead. His soul was in this journal. Kept him grounded. 

 

But the voice calling him sounded like an opportunity, and right now Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever been as much as a yes man as he has been now.

 

Even to the stupid jobs Bill comes up with. All to keep busy. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve got the time. What you want, Marston?” He’s been seeing a lot of him, he’s noticed. 

 

“Ride with me.” 

 

Arthur managed a squint and shut his journal to put it back in his pack. “What’s this about before I rush off on some damn near suicide mission?” 

 

“Just somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.” 

 

“We’re talkin right now, John.” 

 

If it was a joke, John wasn’t laughing. 

“Alright, forget it then.” 

 

“Easy, easy. I was just playin with you. I’ll ride out. Just stop bein’ ominous. Don’t suit you.” 

 

John, who was being so serious, finally cracked a small smile. “Well maybe I wanna be ominous once in awhile. Which is also sayin’ I don’t quite know what that word means.” 

 

Arthur was getting up and fixed his hat to start walking to his horse. “Means all like, mysterious.”

 

“Oh,” John said, his hands were on his belt and he shrugged. “Then yeah. Maybe I am.” 

 

They got to their horses and pulled the reins over and hoped on each horse respectively. Even with prodding at him, John hasn’t mentioned where they were riding to. 

 

“You ain’t leading me out nowhere strange, are you?” 

 

John looked over as they rode off, shaking his head. “You’ve got to have some trust in me somewhere deep.” 

 

“Only reason I know you’re not taking off is ‘cause I’m right here with you. And even then I’m not so sure.” 

 

John went a bit quiet and slowed his pace down. Morgan matched it easily and the two of them trotted side by side in the open vastness of the desert.

 

Arthur did enjoy West Elizabeth the most at dusk. The sun setting, the air cooling off, and the colors in the sky dancing.

 

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

 

“Oh, so you are runnin’ off?” Arthur chuckled, intending it as a poor joke. That didn’t earn a laugh either.

 

“No. No, I ain’t. Arthur—“ He tried to start again but interrupted himself a few times, sighed, then tried once more. “It’s just— Don’t it get tiring?”

 

“What gets tiring?” 

 

“Dunno.. Bein’ Arthur Morgan, I guess.” John shugged and Arthur scoffed. “Bein’ so.. Grouchy. Sad.” 

 

“Oh that’s what this is about, huh? My behavior? Draggin’ me away from camp to give me a talkin’ to because you’re upset I don’t baby you like the rest of those fools.” 

 

“I ain’t bein’ babied by no one— And least of all them. It’s just that the only time I find myself good in your company is when you don’t remember it the next mornin’. And Abigail has been sayin’ that—“ 

 

It all clicked. 

 

John Marston would have never crawled to make amends on his own. Never cared enough, but if it got someone off his back, then..

 

“So she set you up to this? I bet she was expectin’ a lot more of you at my feet and kissin’ my boots rather than you pinnin’ this all on me. And my rotten behavior.” 

 

John went speechless for a moment, trying to come up with a rebuttal, something smart to say, or anything really. Not to sit in silence. 

 

He failed drastically. 

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The man reached into his pack and grabbed a cigarette to light it. The sun was down past the horizon leaving the burning end of his cigarette to illuminate his face and he took a long drag. 

 

They used to be close. Had little John follow him everywhere. Was the shadow he never expected but became to welcome. The ten year difference was enough to think of John as a little brother. But Arthur knew John didn’t see it like that.

 

It was the way Arthur looked at Mary. Was odd seeing such a face on a kid looking at him. 

 

He was probably not even 19 when Arthur started to notice, John was never smart enough to have tact. Always got so flustered so easily. 

 

Arthur thought it to die off, assumed it did. 

 

John broke his thoughts when he spoke up. “Reckon we should set up camp near that river.” 

 

“We’re camping out now are we?” 

 

“Or we can ride back.” It was said between gritted teeth. 

 

“Nah, you’re right.” Arthur exhaled some smoke from the cigarette he had tucked against his teeth. Couldn’t look more fake relaxed than that. Shoulders loose and the light trot. John didn’t look halfway as that. Wired so tight Arthur was surprised his horse hasn't kicked him off yet.

  
  


The river was thin, almost stream like in certain stretches of the land. Quiet too. Looked peaceful. 

 

The boys hopped off their horses and made it over with supplies in arms. It was quick set up and once the fire got started they ended up in an awkward silence. John clearly had to say something and it only made Arthur angrier that he stalled.

 

“Jesus, just spit it out, Marston.”    
  
John shouldn’t have been surprised by the demand but when it came to these things it was just difficult to come up with what to say and say it good. He was always better at keeping quiet, kept him from being stupid.    
  
  


With a final exhale and running his fingers through his long dark hair, he spoke up. “I’m  _ sorry,  _ Arthur.”    
  
“Now there’s the boot kissing.” Arthur smiled wryly, staring at John as he watched him struggle.    
  
It was all on the tip of his tongue, practically choking on words on how to tell Arthur what he’s needed to tell him over the years, but right now Arthur was still mad at him. Rightfully so.    
  
Not to mention, it didn’t feel right to start emptying that can of worms. As close as they are-- Were-- It was never a thing to just.. Talk about. If it was, John probably would have never of found himself to leave.    
  
John stayed quiet again, shutting his stupid mouth and started fussing with his knife.    
  
So far this trip has been uneventful. Awkward. Frustrating.    
  
The fire was the only thing having a discussion, crackling loudly. Must have had a lot of moisture in the logs. The horses huffed nearby. Weariness set over the camp and Arthur laid back.    
  
Wolves howled in the distance to interrupt their thoughts.    
  
Actually, distance was a little too lenient. The horses were starting to get antsy.   
  
The man sat up again and looked to John who was distracted carving away at something.    
They howled again and it seemed closer. Finally John looked up.    
  
It was rarer to see Mexican wolves but they were far active in the night. And nasty.    
It was too dark to see anything except shadows off near rocks a yard or two back. Way too close for comfort. Trouble and it was in the air.   
  
Arthur grabbed his shotgun and squinted into the dark. John readied himself too. Large paws were heard trampling around their camp and Arthur cursed under his breath and shot into the air a couple times, hoping to scare them off.    
  
Didn’t quite work like planned. Angry devils only were made angrier and they stormed the camp like they owned the place. Vast wasteland was their home and they wanted them  _ and  _ their horses. There were  three and Arthur took one down with a calculated shot to the head but the other two were vicious. The wolves are their bullets far too easily and  they were too close, too quick.

  
They put a couple bullets in but one managed to lunge at Marston to take good hold on his arm between sharp teeth and the man screamed out in pain and dropped his gun. Arthur went to shoot the damn dog but the other one took the opportunity to lunge for Arthur instead.    
  
The man combatted it with a swift kick to the snout and a good two shots to the face.    
Arthur reloaded as fast as he could and put two shots in the dog making a chew toy out of John’s poor arm.    
  
“Fucking dogs! Fuck!” John stumbled back and fell to the ground, gripping at his bleeding arm.    
  
“You alright, Marston?” Arthur called out to him as he searched the area again. After it seemed clear Arthur returned to him and grabbed the medical supplies.    
  
“Oh just damn peachy!.” He said between gritted teeth.    
  
Arthur took his arm and helped John remove his jacket so he could get a good look of his bare skin. It was some brutal tearing and it was bleeding a lot. They needed to clean it and stop the bleeding fast.    
  
Marston was biting on his other hand to keep himself together.    
  
“Didn’t know they had wolves out here too.”    
  
“They’ve got wolves everywhere,” Arthur replied, “Now keep quiet.” He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured it over the wound and John growled out in pain. It felt like his entire arm was on fire. Arthur wrapped it up tight and applied pressure. He had herbs to apply to it later to keep it from getting infected that Hosea had shown him years back, but stopping the bleeding was more important first and foremost. Second most was to keep John from feeling it. Whiskey was good for that too, as well as the rest of that health cure John didn’t finish a couple nights back.   
  
John was shaking after he was getting patched up and he looked at Arthur with something. Arthur couldn’t read it right away.

  
“What.”    
  
Silence, hesitation, a gut feeling of anticipation. The expression making sense. Sure, things were going fast but John’s face was something he recognized of all the small instances of near death instances, the love sick look on his face blatant as any day the sun rose. Wanting something Arthur couldn’t give, and something John was too afraid to ask for. But not today.   
  
John leaned forward and damn kissed him.    
  
It was the adrenaline that gave him the confidence, perhaps, and it showed.   
  
It stunned Arthur at first, not having enough time to really kiss back, or to process it really, before John broke it to read his expression.    
  
That expression was dormant, eyebrows raised but overall nondescript. His fist told more as he socked John Marston in mouth instead. Busted his lip. A grunt in pain as reaction.   
  
“I--” John tried to say before Arthur grabbed his neck and leaned forward to kiss him again. It was John’s turn to be surprised but they quickly melted into each other.    
  
John’s mouth tasted like copper from the fresh cut Arthur gave him, the position they fell into was awkward and cramped. Arthur’s body boxing John in with the younger man holding them both up on one shaky arm. There was no surprise when John gave up and they slumped against the ground so Arthur could overwhelmed him.    
  
His tongue licked into John’s mouth and each time their mouths moved against each other John felt a thrilling sense of pleasure. Confusion too, maybe. Sure, he took the chance to kiss him, struck by the “Wow, I almost died” affect, but Arthur reciprocating, especially so enthusiastically, was something he wouldn’t have expected in a thousand years.    
  
The more he thought about it, as he tasted Arthur, as his senses buzzed as he felt the older man’s strong hands run along his body, grip at him like he’d disappear if he let go. John realized this would probably the only time he’d ever get to have this.    
  
His heart ached and he kissed him a little bit more feverish, a little bit more panicked. His good arm gripped at Arthur tighter and Arthur stopped and pulled back a little.    
  
Both of them breathless and flushed with the flickering campfire dancing shadows over them.    
  
Arthur was about to speak.   
  
“Don’t. Please.” John managed to beg. “Not yet.”    
  
Arthur grunted and kissed him again.    
  
Again, Arthur wasn’t particularly surprised at the development, not truly. He just had thought Marston had outgrown it. He had a kid- He had Abigail- A smarter man would have told John to fuck off and maybe turn him into dust. But Arthur was lonely, feeling broken. He was still finding himself missing John and kissing him like this.. So intimately.. reminded him that John wasn’t going anywhere. And it felt like something he should’ve found himself doing earlier.    
  
So they kissed each other over and over again, not tiring of each others lips. A feeling he never had with Mary, had with anyone. Grunting when they found each other rutting against each other faintly. Then more roughly. A feeling that was deeper than just any lady that he grew to know. John understood him.   
  
John was still shaking, from the pain or from the situation, Arthur wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t find himself to stop. His lips finally left John’s mouth to kiss at his jaw and Marston turned for him to offer his neck. A terribly dumb move done entirely out of trust. Arthur valued it and rewarded it with kisses and soft bites. Careful not to leave marks.    
  
“Arthur,” John called out softly. The man pulled away to look at him. “I’m, I’m- Sorry.”    
  
Arthur just kissed him again, then two more times. “I know you are, John Marston. Y’know, there’s rocks in the valley smarter than you. Damn fool.” He mumbled.    
  
John smiled against his lips and gave a short nod. “That I am, Arthur Morgan.” He kissed him again and set his good hand into Arthur’s pretty, honey hair.    
  
It didn’t go farther than that, but they found themselves kissing for hours. Exploring something they both hadn’t been fully able to in the world of the west.    
  
It’s been something he’s been questioning since he was a kid but fully tried to ignore.    
  
Just the idea that he could possibly lie with a man and not regret one second was enough to set him trying to avoid it ten times harder. Thoughts like that get you killed. While, the rest of his thoughts probably would too, it just felt a lot more wrong. Less easy to justify.   
  
He isn’t sure how Dutch or Hosea would react and Arthur never intended to tell them. He liked girls fine enough to pretend.  _ If  _ to say they didn’t know already. Hosea always had eyes on him, and understood parts of him he didn’t even know. If the two of them did figure it out, they were nice enough to let him hide his shame.    
  
Then John Marston had to always look at him with those love sick eyes. He was just a kid, and now. Well now, he really wasn’t.    
  
And Arthur still wasn’t sure if he forgave him. He was throwing a complicated basket of emotions on his lap here, unprompted and unwilling to unravel. All under a disguise of the intimacy he’s been craving for too long.    
  
They fell asleep together, the three dead wolves laying nearby and the fire dying next to them through the night. Their limbs were entangled, all but John’s injured one that was carefully set aside.    


Arthur found it poetic.

  
\--   
  
The next day Arthur woke up with a panicked start, forgetting the night prior. Waking up finding a man clung to you abnormally close and three dead wolves laying nearby wasn’t exactly the best to be calmed down from.   
  
He sat up and looked around then exhaled through his nose. John complained softly under him, his arm still tucked safely away from being crushed or disturbed.    
  
Last night really did happen. Arthur felt guilty, felt ashamed, felt like he took advantage of him. It could be argued the opposite, but when Marston opened his eyes and looked up at Arthur it all seemed worth it. He looked so relieved to wake up to him. Close. Looked at him like he wasn’t some bastard outlaw with an ugly mug.    
  
He looked at him like he had a pretty one, like a damn painting to be marveled at. Something to be treasured.    
  
So he kissed him again. Tasted a lot less like Marston and more like morning mouth, but either way it felt nice to move against someone else. To feel his welcoming touch. God, he didn’t want to stop. His fingers brushing through that greasy hair, his body pressing against his. Marston only exhaled against the action. His lips gentle and pliant against Morgan’s and his good arm slowly creeping up to hold him.    
  
Obviously John was just waking up. The fog in his mind was just clearing and he remembered last night. The pain, of course, was a great reminder, but mostly was Arthur’s mouth on his. Kissing over and over and stunning him from any doubts.    
  
He loved him, John thought to himself. He really did. But with this child of his, if it really was a Marston. It shouldn’t have been. It  _ couldn’t  _ have been. It was only one time-- It was supposed to fix him and--   
  
And Arthur’s tongue was distracting him again, licking at his tongue and he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s neck to hold him close. He wish he had his other hand, so uselessly sitting next to them. 

 

Arthur finally broke them up and sat upright. The sun started to beat down on them again, John looking flushed and dazed in the sunlight. 

 

Reminded him just how much he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He got to his feet and decided to focus on things he did know. Like getting rid of these wolves.

 

“Ah, god damn it.” He muttered as he managed to his feet and start hefting one up. It’s blood has stained some of his things of course. Going to be a bitch to get out. And of course the wolves were stiff as boards since they let them fall into post-mortem. 

 

“You gonna stay there lookin’ pretty or you gonna help?” He grunted as he hefted one over his shoulders, John staying there on the ground and admiring the strength. 

 

“My arm—It’s busted to hell.” 

 

“Useless son of a Bitch.” Should’ve sounded more angry than it was, but Arthur was smirking at him in a warm type of way. John’s stomach fluttered and Arthur found it worth it to watch Johns smitten expression.

 

It didn’t take too long for Arthur to clean up the camp and John finally helped out where he could. Arthur supplies food before they packed up. John managed to take care of the fire and rolled up bed rolls. Didn’t take no time at all.

 

Ready to head out, John stopped Arthur from getting on his horse. That head was thinking again. Always a bad sign, but Arthur let the cogs whirl. 

 

“This… This is gonna change us, ain’t it?”

 

There was a delay. 

 

“‘Suppose so.” 

 

“You know I—“

 

“Mhm.” 

 

Marston was silent again, his eyes downcast as Arthur kept his gaze on him.

 

“Will we ever— I don’t know…”

 

“ _ Jesus,  _ John. You have a  _ family.  _ I can’t— It ain’t right for me to just take that away over some— some..” As Arthur fought the idea John spoke more with action, closing the distance on the two men and hugged him. As manly as he could muster.

 

“Should’ve hit me harder, Morgan.” He went to pull away but found himself unable to, Arthur’s arm keeping him there. Close. 

 

It was contradictory. John came to figure that it was  _ selfishness _ . Arthur’s desires interfering with his logic and morals. 

 

John has always been so easily able to just act, and shit, it got him in trouble, but he couldn’t understand Arthur consistently hesitating. The pensive way about him before every time he made decisions. Yet at the same time so unhappy about the same decisions he took so long to make. It was irritating.

This he wanted him to stay selfish about.

John kissed him again. Languid and slow, his head tilting into it and appreciating every moment. There was high probability it’d be their last, if they were smart men. But unfortunately, they were not. 

 

Everyone noticed John and Arthur going on more and more hunting trips. They all seemed to be relieved by the settling of dust. The rift between the two men absolved. If only they knew. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic I’ve finished In God Knows how long. Mostly written at 3 am but I hope y’all enjoy it. Won’t be doing anything more with this timeline string, just a little Drabble I guess


End file.
